Among Killers
by Flashback 1701
Summary: Feliciano Vargas is a young prison guard sent to work on death row. Each of the men he guards is a killer, cold-blooded and labelled as evil. However, he soon discovers that perhaps not all of them are quite so hard-hearted as they first appear. AU
1. The Murderer

A/N: And I told myself I would try to avoid jail-love fics... This was written in response to a prompt about a clumsy prison guard falling in love with a prisoner who has given up hope.

It feels good to be writing GerIta again.

* * *

><p>An Important Clearing of Possible Misconceptions<p>

This story should not be mistaken for an overly dramatized cop drama for two reasons: one, it takes place inside a prison and thus excludes the copious car chase/gunfight scenes; and two, the criminals are introduced from the beginning rather than at the end of a semi-predictable, seen-it-before plot divvied up by insufferable commercial breaks. Nor should it be mistaken for a hopeless romance novel full of sultry encounters of the x-rated variety and murmurs of devotion. This is, instead, a story of unlikely love, some redemption, and at least one instance of crying in the rain.

Introducing the Murderer

The murderer was a quiet man, keeping to himself and avoiding eye contact at all costs. For his detached, polite manner, he might have been something like an accountant or an engineer in a past life – a life free of barred cells and jumpsuits that smelled of overly-powerful detergent and sweat. Where he might have once mulled over pages of numbers, he now spent his days in rigorous physical training, building his body to ease his endless boredom. However, no amount of meticulously executed pushups or squats could put his mind at rest. His nights were sleepless, his fingernails were gnawed short, and the tired wrinkles settling into his young face darkened with each passing day. Still, he spoke little and generally ignored any attempts to lure him into conversation, feeling better at ease not saying anything at all.

The murderer was a quiet man.


	2. Chapter 1: Night Shift on Death Row

A/N: Sort of a side project (i.e. don't expect prompt updates), but I like the feel so far.

For those of you looking at this new story and wondering when I'll ever finish my others, my priorities are like this: finishing Through These Albino Eyes, school work, this story, oneshots, Red Alert. Why is Red Alert so far down on that list? Because my inspiration is practically nonexistent for it. Eh... anyhow, enjoy this chapter!

* * *

><p>Chapter 1: Night Shift on Death Row<p>

"You've gotta be tough on these guys, Feliciano, you hear me?" Lovino Vargas, a prison warden of seven years, was explained impatiently. Trailing behind him, his younger brother – and newest subordinate – nodded.

"Y-yes sir."

"And stop stuttering like an idiot. If you hesitate in there, the guys'll tear you to shreds."

"Yes sir."

"Good."

The 22-year-old Feliciano was a short, auburn-haired man whose golden honey-colored eyes were so full of sugary kindness that he could barely stand to see anyone suffer. Now in a dank, concrete prison without even the least of windows to alert him of the stars that must have certainly been shining, the first-timer struggled to regulate his breath: in through the nose, out through the mouth, and repeat. Barely a minute and a half later, he had panicked and the process had become reversed. The older guard shot him a questioning look.

"You're gonna hyperventilate if you keep doing that, idiot."

Again, he nodded. With some difficulty, the slender youth managed to correct his faulty respiratory function, but not before silently wishing that he would have just passed out. Maybe then he could have escaped the sick churning in his stomach.

They finally reached a door, black with all sorts of metallic locks and bolts. Feliciano watched silently as his brother opened each with a flick of his wrist and a ring full of keys before finally placing his hand on the knob and turning.

"This is your block," he announced, ushering him into the small cluster of cells. "These bastards are all slated for the chair, so you shouldn't have to worry too much, and you'll never have to transport 'em anywhere since you're the night shift."

"'These bastards?' That's rather harsh, _ouí?_" A smirking blond man hung his arms through the bars of his door, lounging there as though he were leaning up against the bar in some classy joint rather than on death row in the big house. "Come, _mon cher,_ let us speak civilly amongst ourselves."

"Shut up, Bonnefoy." Whirling to address his younger counterpart, Lovino enlightened him. "This fucker killed his last two boyfriends."

"Oh…"

"You can be my next~" The man winked mockingly at the guard, making him bristle.

"Can it, Frenchy, or I'll give you your death sentence early!"

"But some of us are trying to sleep." Another inmate, this one lying on his bunk, rolled onto his side to peer out curiously at the newcomers. "Ah, I have never seen you before, comrade. Welcome!"

"Thank you." Feliciano smiled, feeling himself exhale a little more deeply than he had intended.

Pointing rudely at the sinisterly beaming criminal, his brother interjected, "He kidnapped loads of people and tortured them all to death. Stay on your toes, moron."

"We had such fun, _da?_" The man then smiled and spoke quietly to himself in another tongue.

Lovino ignored him. Gesturing to the opposite side of the room to the two occupied cells there, he jammed his finger dramatically. "That's that damn potato kraut who's always pretending to be asleep, and next to him's Honda. Crazy bastard gutted his brothers with a goddamn samurai sword."

"W-what?"

"Have a blast, little brother." With one last clap on the shoulder, Lovino exited the row of murderers, leaving Feliciano trembling in their midst.

"Sort of a jumpy-looking one, hm?" The man called Bonnefoy scratched pensively at his stubble-covered chin, speaking in a tone as smooth and plush as velvet. "And who might you be, _mon petit?_"

"Feliciano Vargas?" Though he managed to speak without stuttering, the young wardens' voice squeaked painfully. Quiet laughter rang around the cell block.

"A pleasure." The dark-haired one Lovino had called Honda was sitting huddled with his back to the corner. Emotionless, graphite eyes met his, hinting only disgust.

With all the innocence of a small child, the largest of the convicted men grinned and pointed to cheerfully to himself. "You may call me Ivan."

"Francis," sang the blonde.

"Kiku," said the last.

Trying to draw upon the natural charm that had always made him so popular in the outside world, Feliciano forced an expression of blissful idiocy. "It's nice to meet you all!"

"How cute." Ivan's violet eyes narrowed into slits of amusement. "He can play our game."

"Mm…" Francis leered hungrily. "If I could just ravish you now~"

"Leave him alone."

For a moment, the inmates looked honestly confused, brows raised and lips parted, but then it dawned on them who must have spoken in such a soft, raspy voice.

"Ah, we had almost forgotten you and your feigned sleep!" The blond man cast a glance into the cell beside Kiku's. "Behold, gentleman, the shining champion of human decency has been found on death row!"

There was no response but a heavy silence of anticipation. However, this "champion of human decency" spoke not another word and was fully ignored by the other three who alternately conversed, teased, and flirted with their new watchman until they were too tired to carry on.

* * *

><p>Seated in the provided chair – an uncomfortable one at that – Feliciano struggled to stay awake. In just two hours his relief would come for the day, and he would be free to leave, but somehow his eyelids were drifting dangerously close to shut.<p>

"I wouldn't fall asleep here if I were you."

Bolting upright, he questioningly scanned the cell block. For a moment, he thought that it was Francis again, baring before him coquettish words. Then, he realized he'd heard that deep, dry voice before.

"You don't want to find out the sort of range Bonnefoy has," the fourth prisoner grunted, shooting the sleeping man with a wicked glare. "I've seen him hit a guard from across the room."

"R-range?"

He almost smirked. "Let's just say it's not spit." Shifting his position on the bunk, the man ensured that his face remained obscured by blankets and out of Feliciano's sight.

"What's your name?" The guard crept forward to grasp the bars of the cell and peer inside. "I'm Feliciano."

The man just turned his head and pulled his arms over it, hesitating before inhaling sharply through his nose. "It doesn't matter. I'll be dead by the end of the month."

"The end of the month?"

"Two weeks."

They were silent then, neither having so much as a word to say to restart the stalled conversation. It was a painful moment of reflection for the two of them: this prison was no joke. People here would die eventually, the date hanging over their heads until the thread suspending it snapped and the weighty knowledge dropped to crush their waiting skulls.

"I-I see." The auburn-haired guard swallowed a lump in his throat, covering a small sob with a cough. Crying now would be no good – these criminals would only laugh at him when he did. Even not knowing them as he did, it would probably be in poor taste to mourn these bloodstained individuals at all. Hands coming up to swipe away his forming tears, Feliciano nodded. "I'm sorry for bothering you."

He turned and began to walk to his seat when he heard the other whisper gently, almost as though afraid of being heard.

"My name… is Ludwig."


	3. Chapter 2: Putting Crimes to Faces

A/N: There's a reason that Ludwig's crimes aren't elaborated yet. ^^

* * *

><p>Chapter 2: Putting Crimes to Faces<p>

When Feliciano returned to his apartment the next morning, he immediately set about brewing a strong espresso and locating some toast for breakfast. Normally, he might have simply fallen fully clothed into his bed and slept until he was too hungry to remain unconscious any longer. Today, he returned restless and riding an adrenaline rush brought by successfully surviving his first night on the job. He could do this – he could exist among the men deemed by society to be too dangerous to be released from their cages.

The miniscule, silver espresso maker steamed gently at the stove, prompting him to snap the burner off. His charges had all taken human lives, despicable in the eyes of decent and honorable individuals, and were all scheduled to be set at the mercy of a lethal electric current. However, he had time to get to know them before that happened. He felt that he owed them at least that. So, retrieving a laptop just a few years too old to be considered "up-to-date", Feliciano set about searching the internet for clues on the men in his partial custody.

Francis Bonnefoy was first, typed into the search engine with honest curiosity. The man had been born in France, then brought to the States when he was ten. Having lived a relatively normal life, everyone had been shocked when he was named as the killer of his lovers. The first time a boyfriend of his had been murdered, it was a "tragic accident" for the young Francis, but the second time had just been suspicious. He had been escorted from the courthouse with a twisted sneer upon his lips and the thrill of victory in his coy, sapphire eyes.

With a shudder, Feliciano pondered his decision to research these men. Already he could feel the sensation of Francis' hands encircling his neck slithering into his subconscious where it could rear up and poison his nightmares to come. Drawing on the severely lacking reserves of courage within him, Feliciano pressed on.

Ivan Braginski, second child and only son of two influential Russian-Americans, had been born in Kansas. At some point in his early adulthood, he had gathered a group of subordinates drawn by his family's wealth, and had systematically tortured and killed each one. Next to the article, one of the pictures of Ivan's victims caught Feliciano's attention and held it, making his heart beat rapidly in his throat. The young man in the photo must have been barely twenty then, smiling cockily at the world as though challenging it to throw at him its worst. It had, however, and he had been horribly mutilated – almost beyond recognition.

It wasn't the smug grin that had captured the night guard's attention, though. It was the vague familiarity of the face. There was something in the dead man's jaw line, his brow ridge or eye shape that seemed faintly reminiscent of someone Feliciano had once met. Shaking himself, he read that Ivan had been tested repeatedly for mental instability before finally being sentenced to death. His family still wrote.

Scrolling away, he returned to the search engine to type in the final name on his mental list.

Kiku Honda was a first generation Japanese immigrant had come to America to get a job in California. Less than two years later, he had butchered his two roommates with a samurai sword that had been hanging on the wall of the shared apartment. Even in the picture of Kiku flanked by his two former companions, his lips were set in a firm line and his eyes glinted with a guarded coldness.

The prisoner's eyes were all the same: frigid and filled with stinging condescending. But not Ludwig. He hadn't so much as looked at Feliciano once that night. Instead, he had hidden himself in a shame so profound that the young man couldn't even begin to understand. Perhaps it was that he felt true remorse for his crime, a sentiment largely lost on the three others around him.

_Is that the cost of murder?_ Feliciano wondered, staring blankly at the compilation of photos he'd formed and the scattered contents of the manila prisoner profile folders that had been spread across the table. Ivan's familiar victim followed him with curiously transparent eyes that set a rosy, optical interior on display. He had died at the hands of killer, but maybe Ludwig's victim – whomever he or she might have been – had died at the hands of a murderer. The difference was that Ludwig had murdered a person, and Ivan had simply killed.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, the murderer was pushing laboriously against the concrete floor, hands slick with perspiration and hot against the body heat-warmed ground. Muscles twitching, he could feel himself becoming tired and mentally assigned himself twenty more pushups than he had completed the day before.<p>

"You seemed quite taken with that new guard," Francis called across the aisle, blowing the powerful blonde a mocking kiss. "Are you going to ask for him as your last meal?"

Ludwig ignored the taunts, but suddenly lost track of his pushup count through the red haze that had risen. Now he'd have to start all over again.

"I would ask for him to be mine," the large Russian piped up with a giggle. "I would love to hear his beautiful screams when I cut into him~"

Nervously, the other inmates glanced at the serene man, wondering if this utterance had been a darkly humored joke or a disturbed statement. Finally, Kiku broke the silence.

"I feel that we could manipulate him to our desires."

"Oh, you too? Ivan grinned. "He seems to be a weak link, _da?_"

Brushing thoughtfully at his chin, index finger tapping at twitching lips, the Frenchman's mouth contorted into a sneer. "Caution, _mes amis_, or MonsieurJustice Hero might come after you."

Ludwig threw him a look that could have rivaled that of the Medusa in its lethal intensity as it sizzled through the air and struck the whiskered killer across the face.

"What's going on in here?" The guard jolted awake from the shallow sleep into which he had drifted quite on accident. Frowning sharply and catching the built, blond man's expression, Lovino snapped, "Watch yourself, kraut."

He offered only a curt nod of acknowledgement to the irate warden before setting his hands to the floor again. This time, as he raised and lowered his body to some internal rhythm, Ludwig's mind wandered to the kind man who had introduced himself as Feliciano… who had felt sympathy when hearing that Ludwig was so close to death. Gratitude and a sort of desperate attempt to latch onto whatever humanity he could grasp blossomed in the prisoner's chest, and he vowed, glaring at the back of Francis' turned head, that he would protect Feliciano as best he could from any harm with which the other inmates might present him.


	4. Chapter 3: Dead Men and Murderers

A/N: I'm really falling in love with this story. Not only am I getting to experiment with my writing style, but I'm getting to write all sorts of emotional stuff! ^^ Enjoy!

* * *

><p>Chapter 3: Dead Men and Murderers<p>

Feliciano jolted upright, drenched in a cold sweat and breathing as though he hadn't in ages. Across the room, his alarm clock was blaring irritably and possibly disturbing the people in the neighboring apartments. Still trembling, the young man picked his way out of his bed and strode over to shut the stupid thing off.

He stood there for a long time then, staring blankly at the wall as he drew his arms closer around himself. The dreams that had run chaotically through his head all night danced still on the fringes of his conscious, haunting him and prompting the formation of goose pimples across his tanned flesh. He had seen that stranger, the pale-faced, clear-eyed victim slaughtered by Ivan, body strewn across a blood-stained floor as stiff fingers seemed to reach for something and a dethatched head mouthed silently. His colorless gaze, though fogged with death, seemed to probe Feliciano for answers as trembling, scarlet tinged lips continued to move.

A sob bubbled past the young brunette's defenses and he felt his knees give way and send him crumbling to the floor. The dead man had been desperately asking him for something, but the single word he had shaped remained a mystery to Feliciano. The way he had parted his lips, then tapped at his front teeth with a drying tongue before puckering … he might have been saying anything: other, brother, mother. Even so, none of the possible words made any sense. Surely, no relation of his was known to the guard huddled there against the wall. Perhaps he had been saying "other", pleading for some more dignified death than being gutted and left to bleed out.

A cell phone (namely, his) rang, drawing Feliciano's attention to his uniform jacket where he had thrown it earlier that day. Pulling the device from the pocket, he pressed the receive button.

"Hello?"

"How was your first day, kiddo?" His grandfather's rich, deep voice was like a feather mattress, so satisfying to sink into without a thought.

"_Nonno! _I'm so happy to hear from you!" The tears in his eyes quickly became joyful as he wiped at his streaming nose. "Ah, it's going well… I hope that I can make you proud."

"Make me proud?" There was a low chuckle. "You make me proud everyday without even realizing it."

"_Nonno…_"

The older man seemed to frown, for his facial expression could be heard in his tone when he said, "Is everything okay there, Feli? You sound upset."

"I-I just had a bad dream." Feliciano tried to laugh it off, but failed miserably. "I'm okay, really."

"You come home if you're not, you hear me?"

"… Yes sir."

"Good." His grandfather exhaled gently. For a moment, the young man could almost imagine standing in his arms, being enveloped in the sort of affection only he could offer. "You take care of yourself, kiddo."

"I will."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

And when the brunette drew the phone away from his ear, he found that he felt even emptier, even more alone than before.

* * *

><p>"What's wrong with you?"<p>

The question broke just as Feliciano was convinced that the inmates had all fallen asleep, resigning himself to a quiet night of buzzing fluorescents and virtual solitude. Turning to face the man now seated on his cot, the guard struggled to don his usual grin. "Nothing's wrong, Ludwig. I'm just tired since it's so late."

"Something's on your mind," Ludwig shot back with all the rationality and cool level-headedness he'd shown before. "I can tell from the way your forehead's wrinkling."

"It's nothing."

"If you were comfortable with it, you… you could talk about it. With me."

"Um…"

There was an awkward pause punctuated by a particularly risqué comment purred by Francis as he slept. Both the men who sat awake just stared at the other, as though trying to grasp the situation. This was the second time they had held a normal conversation, similar to those held by the people who dwelled not in iron crates, but in houses and apartments and trailers even. These were not the sorts of verbal exchange to be passed between a guard and a prisoner… or were they? Neither man knew for certain.

"I'm sorry. It was a stupid idea." Ludwig turned away, again rendering himself not quite visible. "It's like a bad joke… counseling from convicts."

"Well, if you'd like!" Standing suddenly, the young brunette all but sprang to his feet in his desperation for company. "If you'd like, I could tell you. What's bothering me, I mean."

The murderer froze. "You could?"

"I will!" came the correction. "But… I hope you won't get scared or angry with me."

"I won't." With a low grunt, Ludwig shrugged listlessly and signaled for Feliciano to speak.

"Well, I've been looking up things about you guys on the internet and databases and stuff – about what sorts of… crimes you committed. I mean, I did for Francis and Kiku and Ivan, but not you, Ludwig. I don't know anything about you!"

This was taken silently by the listener, urging an anxious giggle from his guard.

"Anyway, I was looking up Ivan-"

"He's a dangerous man. Stay away from him."

Feliciano paused to blink at the intensity of the blonde's response, observing the shivers that racked the criminal's powerful frame. Fists tightened in overly starched sheets until blood blossomed on the material for gnawed finger nails having bitten all the way through the tough flesh of the palms. This time when Ludwig shot him a pointed look, Feliciano was able to snatch a quick glimpse of the other's eyes. They were blue, the color of forget-me-nots, and brimming with an untamable pain.

Finally, the guard nodded. "I know, I read his file and lots of articles about his crimes."

"Did you." It was a statement, not a question.

"Um… yes?"

The murderer sighed and threw his stained sheets away in disgust. "I apologize. Continue with your story."

"There was this one victim who really scared me… his death, I mean. It was just so awful, and he seemed so alive in the picture before it happened…" Feliciano smirked sheepishly. "It kinda scared me a little, I guess."

"What happened to that victim?"

"Um…" He didn't want to have to explain it – it was just too morbid, too disturbing to go into graphic detail. Picking carefully around the bits he desired to exclude, the man formulated his answer. "He had his head chopped off, and he was cut up really nasty. I couldn't really even look at the pictures or I would've gotten nightmares."

Ludwig's face was stony, but there seemed to be a mysteriously liquid element to his gaze in that moment. After a deep inhale through his nose, he whispered coldly, "That man was Gilbert Beilschmidt. He was my brother."

And the conversation that probably should have never taken place was killed just as effectively as Gilbert Beilschmidt had been in years previous. Both men lapsed into shock – one for having just admitted something quite traumatic, and the other for having heard it. It was not even ten seconds after the great unveiling that Feliciano withdrew from his standing position near Ludwig's cell in favor of collapsing into his chair with his hands over his eyes. All he could see in his agonized head was that albino victim's post mortem croak.

_Brother… Brother… Brother…_


	5. Chapter 4: People, Too

A/N: A quick apology - anyone who reads my work knows that I absolutely love Gilbert. However, my love for him manifests itself strangely, and he often ends up dead or maimed in about 90% of my stories. Go figure. I just want y'all to know that our beloved Prussian has not died in vain. ^^

Here's for character development and the beginnings of revelations!

* * *

><p>Chapter 4: People, Too<p>

"How do you think Sweet Feli will like to hear about your crime?" called Ivan the next morning, mocking the other with his sing-song tone. "Do you think he will smile at you if he knows what you are and how you treated my dear sister?"

"Shut up." For possibly the first time since he'd joined the block on death row, the murderer found himself communicating verbally to a fellow inmate. He growled low in his throat, the strained rage raised to shield his shame from these utterly shameless men. "This has nothing to do with her."

"Oh, but it does." Giggling menacingly, the large criminal met his gaze with one of steely violet. "Ah! Perhaps comrade wants Sweet Feli like he was wanting my sister, _da?_"

Ludwig's jaw cracked for being clenched with such force. "Don't call him that."

"You do not like that I call him Sweet Feli?"

"It's disgusting."

"No more than your own intentions, hm?" Francis had joined the banter (though it could hardly be called as such for the lack of an innocent, playful nature). "I've seen that hungry look in your eyes, _mon ami_. I can see what you're thinking about _Sweet Feli_~"

Now he rolled stubbornly onto his side, refusing to respond to the Frenchman's increasingly suggestive taunts. His neighbor, the quiet, Japanese inmate, only blinked owlishly, having just looked up from the book clutched in his small hands. Then, seeing nothing of interest in the situation, he returned his attention to the novel, slowly turning the page between his forefinger and thumb.

"He wants to take our Sweet Feli up the ass," Francis whispered loudly to Ivan, acting as though he were speaking confidentially. "He wants to put it in and listen to Sweet Feli's mo-o-oans~"

"So he is not as picky about his victims as he might pretend, _da?_"

Ludwig's lip was numb, so tightly clenched between his teeth that it would not have surprised him had he discovered that he had bitten all the way through. He hated how weak and helpless he felt, a prisoner of his own self loathing as well as of the larger, steel cage that locked him in with these of no conscience. That date, the dark day marked only twelve days from the present, was not approaching swiftly enough for his own selfish, impatient tastes. What was the world without a man like him? Better off, surely.

"Ah! So big!" rang Francis' squeaking mockery of Feliciano's kind voice. He thrust himself lewdly up against the bars of his cell, his facial expression nothing short of explicit. "Oh, Ludwig, right there!"

The others shared a low chuckle.

Feliciano would be better off without a man like him, a man who was slowly going to pieces because he had met the perfect someone while shut away on death row with an expiration date tattooed across his forehead. Maybe it was only desperation that drew Ludwig to the gentle, young guard – indeed, he'd never shown homosexual tendencies before – however these details mattered little. One thing he knew for certain was that the short, precious glimpses of Feliciano made the murderer feel like a human again, like a man capable of more than destruction and death.

"If it would make you feel much better," Ivan piped up, the sugar in his voice masking the venom just barely. "While I was knowing him, I also called your brother 'Sweet Gilbert'."

A dry sob lodged itself into his tightening throat, almost becoming a dry heave instead. Without another word, Ludwig drew his prison sheets over his head and prayed to be erased.

* * *

><p>His apartment was small but shadowed, and practically every little hidey-hole was ideal for the horror-film classic ax murderer who would probably be wearing some sort of ridiculous mask to hide a potentially terribly disfigured face.<p>

"Is everything alright, Feli? You're awfully quiet today."

His grandfather's words made him jump despite the fact that he was indeed propping the cell against his head. Shaking himself to expel the paranoia brought on by too little sleep, he shuffled backwards until his shoulders brushed the corner of the room. "I'm sorry, I was just thinking."

"Thinking what? You're not giving yourself a headache, are you?"

Feliciano giggled lightly, trying to conceal his despair. "No."

"Feliciano, what's wrong?"

"_Nonno, _have you ever tried to make friends with the criminals?" That hadn't been the question he'd intended to ask. The one he had been mentally piecing together went something a little more like, "Did you ever have nightmares because of some crazy person who chopped his victims into tiny pieces?"

There was a low sigh and his grandfather hummed. "Yes, I have. They're still people just like you, kiddo. The only difference is that they made the decision at some point to end someone else's life, and that's some pretty heavy stuff."

"So I shouldn't try to get to know them?"

"No, it's good to talk to them," the older man assured him, probably nodding with the receiver trapped against his ear. "You can remind them that they _are _human even if it's only for a short while."

"And when they die?"

"The cells aren't usually empty for long."

"Good-bye, _Nonno,_" Feliciano found himself saying numbly. "I'll talk to you tomorrow. I love you."

* * *

><p>"Hello everybody!" Taking his grandfather's advice to heart, the guard arrived at his post with a cheerful smile that obscured his true feelings like a coat of bright yellow paint. "How are you tonight?"<p>

"Very well, thank you." Kiku returned a tight-lipped smirk that was just as genuine as the younger man's.

"I've been waiting for you, _mon cher_~"

"Welcome back, little one. We are missing your company during the day, yes?"

Feliciano giggled, his false mannerisms locked into place despite the disgust and fear he felt looking into the Russian's vacant eyes. "Aw, really? I missed you guys, too!"

The conversation was so artificial that one could almost smell the plastic of the expressions the speakers wore. However, it didn't matter to the inmates. They were content to have this lively, good-natured guard in exchange for his more ornery brother; he was interesting enough to hold their attentions for the moment, and if that changed… Well, they would find some use for him.

"Ivan, I heard you got a letter from someone today. Was it your family?"

The killer adopted that unique grin of his, somehow managing to combine the sweet, naivety of a child and the cold intention of a hardened criminal. "My sister, _da._ She is telling me that she is quite convinced of my innocence at that I should return home quite soon so that we might remain together forever." Here a displeased flicker crossed his features.

"There's nothing worse than a clingy woman!" Feliciano laughed to fill the awkward emptiness of the moment.

"But his sister is very beautiful," Francis interjected, licking his lips suggestively. "I would gladly take her off your hands if you shouldn't want her."

"I bet that Francis was quite the lady killer."

"I had my fair share of men, too, Feliciano. I could give you a demonstration of skill if you'd like~"

Edging slowly from beside the flirtatious blonde's cell, the guard held up his hands. "Th-that's okay, you don't have to do that."

"You're so cute," was the murmured reply, punctuated by a blown kiss.

"Um, how about you, Kiku? Did you ever have a girlfriend o-or…?" The unreadable nature of the Asian man set Feliciano on edge. Speaking to him felt like treading in a minefield – this man was capable of murder, and any word might set him off without warning.

"No."

"And Ludwig?"

There was no reply. With a disheartened sigh, the young man couldn't help but let his gaze linger just slightly longer across the prisoner's prone figure, knowing that Ludwig was perfectly awake but refusing to interact with any of them. He missed his stern but earnest nature, the way they could openly discuss matters without fearing for showing emotion. Mostly, Feliciano was worried for Ludwig. And sorry for him. He wondered briefly how it would feel if Lovino were to be hacked to bits by a homicidal maniac. A shiver smuggled its way down his spine.

"Ah, ignore him, _da?_ He is no good after all." Ivan's gaze hardened to diamond-like proportions. "He is easily the most cold-blooded of us all."

"Ludwig's not like you at all!" blurted the brunette. Realizing immediately afterwards that this had been a poor course of action, he pursed his lips and studied the pockmarked concrete floor. "I mean… Ah…"

A maddeningly haughty laugh escaped the Frenchman in the nearest cell. "Ludwig, _mon ami, _your hero routine has paid off! Our sweet little guard truly believes you to be someone worthwhile."

His stomach twisting sick knots, Feliciano watched in horror as the large man rolled onto his side to face him with solemn eyes. Though he tried to mask it through well-practiced indifference, the sorrow was hanging around Ludwig's neck like an anchor, heavy and obvious.

"Then he must be stupid," the murderer whispered in a tired voice. "Only an idiot would believe that sort of bullshit."

But Feliciano did, and the look on the blonde's face only strengthened his resolve.


	6. Chapter 5: Haunted by the Past

A/N: In whichLudwig's crime comes to light (because he is not, in fact, falsely accused).

His crime somewhat reflects some events of the Second World War.

* * *

><p>Chapter 5: Haunted by the Past<p>

That night, the murderer dreamt of his brother, the achingly familiar smirk contorting his pale lips: Gilbert was cackling like a madman, thumping the younger, less muscular Ludwig heartily across the back.

"Ah, you little hard-ass! He gasped, catching his breath, and kneaded the boy's scalp with his knuckles. "God, I love you, kid!"

The just-less-than-teenaged blonde turned, with laugher building in his chest, to tell the other to stop nooging him, only to find his brother without a head. Heart seizing up, he watched transfixed as scarlet oozed through the crusty black of congealing blood, the sickening display contrasting with the deathly pale white hue of the corpse's skin. He blinked to escape the image, his eyes squeezed shut before opening them cautiously to the sight of beaten, swollen face of the dead man thrust into his. Cracking lips parted to reveal missing teeth and a butchered tongue.

"Brother…" Death had given his eyes a peculiar, cobwebbed appearance that the boy realized when he found them locked upon him, paralyzing him and screaming accusations. "My brother…"

"Please!" Ludwig could feel his stomach contracting and pushing itself up his throat. Bile was string his mouth, the acrid flavor making his eyes prickle with tears. He knew what was coming – he'd had this nightmare before – and he would have given his own head if only he knew it would give peace to this grisly specter of the only family he'd ever had.

That constant sneer unfurled, and the blackened tissue that had closed one of his eyes gave him the semblance of an arrogant wink. "My brother is a killer."

"Ludwig!"

He inhaled sharply, the cool air scraping past his raw throat and burning chillingly at his lungs. Covered in sweat and shivering uncontrollably, the murderer found that his clothing and sheets were damped with his perspiration. He swiped at the tears in his stinging eyes, sitting up and placing his feet on the cold, steady floor.

"Ludwig, are you okay?" Feliciano's knuckles were white as he worried at the door, the look in his honey-sweet eyes implying that he was bare moments from bursting into the cell, but his bloodless visage revealed that he lacked the strength in that moment to do so. "You were… you were screaming his name."

"It was much too violent to have been a sex dream, hn?" Francis called teasingly. "You must take it quite rough, Ludwig."

"Pi-pipe down, Bonnefoy!" Shooting an unusually threatening glare at the leering Frenchman, the guard appeared to be scraping together every ounce of menace he had to defend his clearly shaken prisoner. "Nose out and m-mind your own business!"

Francis fell silent almost immediately, more from shock than fear.

"Gilbert?" A frosty, falsely light-hearted giggle danced in the heavy atmosphere. "But he was the brother, yes? His screams were beautiful~"

Clenching his fists, Ludwig choked out a whisper. "B-bastard."

"When he finally told me what I wanted, I was so happy!" Malevolent amethysts glinted, openly jeering at the other's mental anguish. "I was so happy that I gave him the quick death he was wanting!"

"Y-you, too, Braginski! Pipe down!" The guard swallowed, trying to expel his heart from his mouth and return it to his chest cavity where it belonged. With his breath short, he endeavored to scowl at the incredibly large, threatening man.

"I did to him like you did to my sister, _da?_"

At that, Ludwig lost whatever little control he had been exercising up until that point and vomited onto the cell floor, heaving on all fours until he had nothing left within him. Hollow but still nauseated, the murderer quivered hideously, the perfect image of human ruin.

"Braginski!" Feliciano's voice snapped like fine thread, but Ivan finally lapsed into a satisfied silence.

* * *

><p>Slowly drawing the murderer's papers from the manila folder labeled with his identification number, the guard numbly scanned the document at the top of the stack for a name. Then, typing that name slowly into the search engine, Feliciano clicked on the first result to appear.<p>

The article was short, but he could feel his heart drop with each word beginning with the headline. It outlined a singular incident for which the one who had committed the crime had finally been placed in to custody, a case that had remained unresolved for four years.

For a long time, he was numb, heavy with realization. He didn't think that he was exactly angry, but he was disgusted. He was disillusioned and shoved up awkwardly into a corner intended for sinners and fools. Had he been stupid to have tried to engage the man in conversation? Had he been wrong to have treated any of the inmates as equal human beings? They were all stained with guilt and blood, their twisted smiles mirroring their twisted intents. He should have understood before all of this that he would be disappointed if he tried to make friends amongst these killers.

However, though it was a small, not-quite comfort, Feliciano knew, at least, why Ludwig had been sick the night previous. Now it became clear why both he and Ivan observed the other with such pure loathing.

* * *

><p>"I got mixed up in a street gang nine years ago. I was sixteen then, thought that I was invincible. The lot of us lived in anarchy, taking what we wanted and doing whatever we saw fit…" the prisoner trailed off with distaste. "When my brother caught on, he yanked me out and moved to a small town where I got a job working for an old family friend. For a long time, I did my best to forget."<p>

Feliciano simply watched him expectantly, honey-hued eyes caressing the other's pale, square jaw and stress-wrinkled brow. He had waited that night for the others to fall asleep before urging Ludwig to drop his sleeping act in favor of answering a few questions. Explaining that he had read the articles concerning the incident, Feliciano slowly and gently urged the other man to speak. But tonight for reasons unknown, the criminal's deep, deep voice was striking a chord within him, resounding at the center of his chest where the vibrations melded with the beating of his heart in a way that the voice of a murderer oughtn't ever.

"I was an idiot, thinking I could get away with everything. They eventually found my… DNA on that girl. They found all the evidence I hadn't bothered to hide. And him." He nodded wearily to the peacefully sleeping Ivan who wore the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips. "When he saw me, I saw something in his eyes that made me feel like I'd been frozen solid. His eyes were so cold…" Ludwig shivered.

"It was his sister, right?"

The blond man remained motionless for so long that Feliciano began to think he'd offended him and was just about to apologize when the other finally whispered, "She was a kind person. I should've died, not her."

"You were lovers?"

"No." Staring determinedly at his hands, scowling at the black lettering etched into his knuckles, Ludwig inhaled slowly. "She was a senior at my high school: honors choir, straight A student, scholarship offers to good schools… She was a nice girl – pretty, too – but she never seemed to have any friends. Maybe she would still be alive if she had."

"Why?"

"Because she was alone a lot, and we noticed."

His heart sinking down onto the floor, Feliciano whispered, "And?"

"And so we took her like we took anything else we wanted." Ludwig's voice broke. "And I thought that after everything that had happened, I would be doing her a favor."

"So you killed her?"

He looked utterly miserable. "I broke her neck."

"Why?"

"Because I was young, drunk, and stupid, and I didn't fucking comprehend that I was robbing her of her future."

"And yours."

"To hell with me," hissed the prisoner as he hid his face as though trying to smother himself in his own palms. "To hell with me, I'm nothing but a fuck-up who doesn't have a future because I can't escape the past."

* * *

><p>AN: I just realized that this is the second time I've killed Ukraine. I'm really sorry about that. ^^; I won't even count how many times I've killed off Gilbert...

Also, Ludwig is about 25-years-old in this story. He went four years without being caught (as mentioned in the article read by Feliciano), and was either eighteen or nineteen when he commited the actual crime. Therefore, he was twenty-two or twenty-three when he was arrested and sentenced (which I'm sure Ivan's powerful family was able to arrange all too easily).


	7. Chapter 6: Outside Opinions

A/N: Another chapter and lots of dialogue. Enjoy~

* * *

><p>Chapter 6: Outside Opinions<p>

It had been two nights since Ludwig had confided in him, and since then, the blonde had refused to be roused from the stubborn facade of sleep. Instead, he had only burrowed further beneath his sheets and pointedly ignored the small talk thrown out by the guard. The festering wounds left from the violent, sickening discovery of the murderer's crime were left unattended to rot in the open air filled with a poisonous lack of speech. Somehow, that had hurt more than any of the terrible things that he might have potentially said.

"Hey, Feli! Holy shit, man, I thought you were dead!"

Whirling away from the endless shelved array of boxed pasta, Feliciano was all but tackled by an excited, bespectacled individual who smelled strongly of deep fryers and coffee.

Grasping his friend back with a tight, around-the-chest embrace, he smiled from one ear to the other. "Alfred! How have you been? How's school?"

"Ugh, I'm getting my ass handed to me by my Chinese course. Other than that, nothing's new." The college student shrugged, tucking his hands comfortably into the large pocket at the front of his sweatshirt. "How about you, man? How's criminal guarding?"

"Not bad." Heaving a small sigh, Feliciano endeavored to keep the tired grin from slipping off his face. "It's sort of sad, actually."

"Sad? What'dya mean?"

"Well…" He was pinned in the other's expectant stare, mentally cataloguing the difference between this energetic youth and the emotionally-detached inmate. Alfred's eyes were hopeful and rich, with a shade like a sunlit ocean. In contrast, Ludwig's were closed and haunted with the color of an arctic glacier – they had frozen and, in doing so, had trapped all of the unpleasantness within.

"Dude? You're spacing out on me…"

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Laughing to cover his embarrassment, the young guard rubbed at the back of his neck. "Um, I' mean, what I was saying was that it's sorta sad because you get used to seeing the prisoners, but you know that they're all going to die soon, anyway."

"But that's life. You're taking to me right now, and we both know that we're gonna die someday – I could get run down by a bus tomorrow." Alfred mused, "Besides, they're criminals, right? Killers and stuff. I guess it's kinda like… good guys win and bad guys lose. Game over."

"But these are real people, Alfred."

"Yeah." He pulled a face and dropped his gaze to check the bottom of his shoe as though looking for answers or discarded gum in the worn treads. "But so were the people they killed."

* * *

><p>That night, when Feliciano set dinner in front of his brother (who had enjoyed a day off), the other brunette had only glowered up at him and asked, "Alright, what the hell happened?"<p>

"What? Nothing happened…" Stretching his lips into a painful attempt of a smile, he reached for his fork and began to transfer the cheesy, tomatoey pasta to his mouth. "I talked to _Nonno_ today."

Silence.

"He says you've been asking some strange questions."

Again, silence.

Pounding his fist on the table and rattling the place settings where they sat, Lovino demanded, "Who is it?"

"Who is what?" This time his question was entirely honest. With his loaded fork trapped in the limbo between his mouth and plate, Feliciano met the other's impatient glower.

"Don't play dumb with me, you little moron, which one of the losers you're guarding are you trying to get all buddy-buddy with?"

"N-no one!"

"No one?"

"Yes!"

The older man growled, "Then why are they all saying that you and that fucking potato-kraut bastard are an item?"

"Who?"

"Ludwig! Ludwig! That fucker who raped and killed Braginski's sister!"

"Well…" Shrugging, Feliciano set aside his silverware and tried to fold up in upon himself. "We just, y'know, talked, and I really don't want to talk about it…"

"And he wouldn't have anything to do with this gloom you're in lately, would he?"

"No?"

He scrutinized the young man with a hardened hazel eye. "Are you asking me?"

"Um, no…"

Lovino ground his teeth, breathing deeply through his nose, and sighed. He didn't like playing the bad guy, but he didn't want his naïve idiot of a brother to be hurt by those chair-bound sons of bitches. Forcing himself to ignore the other's tears, he donned a stern look. "Whatever. I'm going to find out either way, do you hear me?"

Feliciano made eye contact with his water glass when he nodded.

The dinner was cold when they finally began eating, but neither commented on this in the slightest: Lovino was too preoccupied formulating a plan to extract the truth, and Feliciano was too busy trying to act as though he weren't thinking about the blond murderer at that precise moment.

He had explained the situation to Alfred when they'd met earlier that day, asking that college student for his opinion.

"Well, for one, I guess you've got a right to feel all bummed out about his being a legit rapist-murderer and all," he'd said finally, balancing the shopping cart as he leaned on the handle. "And he's gonna get the chair or whatever in what'd you say? A week or so? I guess if I was you, I wouldn't worry about it all that much."

"Oh." His disappointment was as obvious in his voice as it was on his face. "Well, it's just that... I thought we were friends, I guess."

The other man snorted.

"Is it really that bad?"

"Uh, kinda." Smiling an understanding smile, Alfred had clapped Feliciano on the back. "Feli, you're way too nice to be doing this shit. Maybe you oughta work old folks of daycare kids or something. I swear, you're the only guy I know who would try to be friends with a killer."

"A murderer."

"Is there a difference?"

Feliciano had hesitated here, not knowing what to say, before finally shrugging and nodding the affirmative. "I like to think so."

"You're a weird guy, Feli," he had laughed. "But you make it work."

"Um, thanks?"

"I guess you've got two choices then: you can totally blow the guy off, or you could try to stay friends with him and pretend like nothing's happened."

"Yeah…"

They had then chatted as they used to, rambling aimlessly around a wide range of topics such as the superiority of spaghetti or hamburgers over such food items as shepherd's pie and spotted dick. Eventually, Alfred had gotten a text from his cousin asking where the bloody hell he had gone with the groceries, and the two admitted sheepishly that they had been talking for almost an hour. When he'd turned for the door, the college student's parting words had been, "Watch yourself, man, there are dangerous people out there."

And that was a fact that Feliciano knew all too well.


	8. Chapter 7: Murderous Rage

A/N: Tempers are flaring in this, the next dramatic installment of Among Killers! Eh... corny intro aside, I hope you enjoy this!

* * *

><p>Chapter 7: Murderous Rage<p>

"What did you say to my brother?" Lovino asked harshly, knocking at the bars of the cell with his flashlight. When the sullen blonde finally looked up, the guard hissed contemptuously, "I know it was you! You're the only one he ever talks about, goddammit, what did you do?"

"'The only one he ever talks about', hn? Has Ludwig gotten lucky?" The familiar, slinky tone washed over their ears as Francis released his taunts like blown kisses. Whiskered lips twisted into a lewd sneer. "And to do so without our hearing? _Mon Dieu,_ he must be quite talented, _non?_"

"Shut the fuck up, Bonnefoy! Just shut the fuck up!" Lovino all but shrieked, face contorted with fury. "Potato bastard, what the hell did you do?"

"I-!"

"Perverts must be reprimanded firmly, da? Otherwise there is always a risk of repeat behavior."

"That dog, we knew this was coming from the passionate, hungry look in his eye~"

"It's not true!" Leaping to feet and thrusting his face into the guard's, he roared, "You want to know what I did to your brother? I told him the truth! I told him the goddamn truth about what I did!"

Lovino blinked the spit from his bulging eyes and gaped at him, somewhere between stunned silence and incomprehensible rage.

His emotional control that had been worn so dangerously thin from the constant jeers of his fellow condemned finally gave way as the intense blaze that had simmered in the pit of his stomach exploded outwards. Brimming with fierce, ill-intent and the desire to do nothing more than wound the bastard who had so easily clipped his brother's life short, the murderer turned to strike the Russian with stinging, twin bullets and spat out, "And shut up about your sister! She gave up the moment she was caught!"

"N-no!"

"If she'd loved you so much, she wouln't've begged me to kill her!"

"You lie!" Now Ivan, too, was standing, the insanity boiling in his turbulent, violet eyes. "You lie, you disgusting -!"

"It wasn't my fault she couldn't fucking bear to live with herself!"

"Liar!"

"Were you jealous? Were you jealous because unlike your sister, my brother had the courage to face his future?"

"You had to pay!"

"U-um…" The usual metallic squeal of hinges had been masked by what had dissolved into a screaming match. Feliciano stood quivering in the doorway, heart bursting in the back of his throat as he observed the spectacle before him. In just a moment, he had seen the tears slithering down the cold, stony faces of the criminals. In just a moment, he had heard the pure emotion in their cracking voices. "D-did I come at a bad time?"

"Feliciano…"

"Lovi, what's wrong?" Gently resting a hand on his brother's shoulder, he murmured, "Did something happen? Should I call for backup?"

"N-no," the older guard sniffled, clearing his throat gruffly before wiping his nose on his sleeve. "These bastards are all yours."

Nodding, though still wearing his concern on his face, Feliciano walked the other man to the door.

"Don't worry about a thing! I'll take care of everything, okay?"

"Don't talk to _him._" Giving the murderer one last, razor-sharp stare, Lovino stomped from the cell block, leaving it in absolute silence.

"Feli –" Francis began, only to be cut off by the guard's calm inquiry.

"What happened?"

"Please, Vargas-san, it was a misunderstanding." Surprisingly, Kiku was the one to speak first, slowly rising from his kneeling position to allow himself easier eye contact with the guard. "Your brother believes intimate physical relations between you and Ludwig-san."

"Intimate physical…?" Wrestling for a moment with the Asian man's accent, Feliciano's brows shot up his forehead when he realized what was being said. "You think Ludwig and I…?"

"Are fucking?" offered Francis, less than helpfully. "Not entirely – I'm sure the bars would leave some nasty bruises."

"I've never touched Ludwig," the young brunette announced, expression neutral but edged with uncertainty. "But why was that such a big deal?"

The two inmates who had spoken willingly now cast their eyes upon Ivan who had collapsed heavily to his knees with his head clutched in his hands.

"Katyusha, Katyusha…" he fervently mumbled, almost praying the name as he rocked like a ship upon a stormy sea.

"He was reminded of sister," Kiku replied with a small shrug.

"Ludwig?" Approaching the murderer's cell, Feliciano observed him stretched out on his bunk, fingers laced behind his head as he stared fixedly at the ceiling. This was the first time he'd seen him in his entirety, without hiding in the shadows or blankets surrounding him, and it could not be denied that the blonde was a truly handsome man; his square, rugged features might have been at home on the face of a World War II-era infantryman in a Hollywood production. However, if a person took the time to examine him more carefully, that person would find that his long, sharp nose must have been broken once for the faint slope in the ridge, and that his eyes were greatly sunken and hung with the weary bags of a much older individual. Even now, when the murderer was trying too hard to appear untouched, Feliciano could see the weight on the other's brow, the stress in his frowning lips.

Swallowing, he ventured, "Ludwig, are you okay?"

"Don't talk to me anymore." He turned onto his side and looked directly at the guard with a solemn, regretful stare. "I'm a bad man, Feliciano, and I'm going to die soon."

"But –"

Losing a low, dry laugh, that didn't so much as touch his carved mask, Ludwig returned his attention to the yellowing ceiling. "I should have followed my gut feeling from the start – I should have pushed you away like everyone else."

"Then… Then _I_ should have left you alone like the sick killer everyone else thinks you are."

The hurt in those softening blue eyes was quickly shielded from view when the man presented Feliciano with his broad back. "Yeah, you should've."

The guard drew away from the cell, expression quiet and cold. Though he tried to finally conform to the image of his occupation, he could still feel his hands shaking against his thighs and his pain throbbing against his breastbone. Whirling sharply on his heel, he stalked unsteadily to his seat. There wasn't a sound but for the creak of the metal folding chair to break the heady silence.

No one dared to speak for the rest of the night, instead choosing to settle down for sleep with the breathy murmurs Ivan's reverent chant ringing in their ears.


	9. Chapter 8: Seven Days

A/N: I'm really glad you're all enjoying this story, and are so eager to get updates, but I request that you please refrain from using vulgar threats as a way to encourage me to write. Thank you.

Meanwhile, here's a new chapter. Don't expect anything very soon - I'm still mapping out the story as I go. ^^

* * *

><p>Chapter 8: Seven Days<p>

Just a week prior, Ludwig had been ready to disappear forever. Then, through some wicked twist of fate, a heaven-sent prison guard had descended to wreak havoc on his determined mindset. That sweet individual who – with only a handful of genuine spoken sediments – had made him feel warm and grateful to be alive had also set him thinking dangerous thoughts like, "When I die, will Feliciano miss me?"

Not that it made a difference anymore; Ludwig had finally succeeded in making Feliciano hate him along with the rest of the world.

Eyes closed and facing to the unreachable heavens, the murderer wondered when he had become such a masochist. He could feel a twisted satisfaction sparking to life amidst the layers of sorrow heaped across his chest, a small, whispery voice insisting, "You don't deserve his smile, you demon. You don't deserve to feel human in these few moments of conversation, or in your stupid fantasies. You only deserve his hatred and disgust for what you've done."

Ludwig had accepted long ago that he had no right to have anyone mourn his passing, he had no right to _think_ that anyone would mourn his passing. He had abandoned such privileges when he had been led away in handcuffs with his brother's words ringing in his ears, "I'm sorry, kid, this is my fault. I shoulda yanked you sooner, God, I shoulda yanked you sooner…"

The last thing his brother had ever said to him, whispered through a receiver before a cruel pane of bulletproof glass, had been, "You're my brother and I love you – nothing you do could ever change that."

Gilbert hadn't known what had been waiting for him in the mad world of vengeance, the world that was blind for having lost both eyes out of spite.

The night guard on shift loudly turned the page of his magazine, chuckling at something or another that had absolutely nothing to do with anything. He certainly wouldn't care if he arrived one day to find Ludwig's cell empty or housing a new scumbag, life-snatcher. In fact, he probably wouldn't care to take the time to notice the difference. They were all the trash of the human world, the disgusting, homicidal bastards, so what was the point in being able to recognize one from the other?

With the agony of his brother's unjust death and the bitter thorns of the lost civility between himself and Feliciano, Ludwig curled into the smallest form possible and wallowed in a curiously salty mixture of self pity and self loathing. Once again, he decided, he was prepared to die.

* * *

><p>"Seven days~" Francis had been singing all day, waving his fingers dramatically in Ludwig's direction. "Seven days, seven days, Ludwig! How does it feel to know you'll never live to see a new week?"<p>

The large man had abandoned his exercises in favor of lying in his bunk and taking mental leave of his heavy body. Rather than hearing the Frenchman's endless jibes, he was elsewhere, laughing at a joke his brother told as they dashed home in the dark past the curfew. The summer night was hot with the lingering caress of the sun, and the fireflies were out, drifting in the still air like stars that hadn't managed to reach the black, black sky.

"Faster!"

Their panting had broken the still monotony of the evening; the slap of their sandals against the dry, weed-split pavement; the bubbling laugher trapped in the hushed note of their adrenaline-pumped exclamations.

"Has he been like this all day?" someone was asking in the distance. A neighbor, perhaps, or a casual nocturnal pedestrian.

"_Oui,_ he has become quite hopeless."

"He lies like a corpse, lost in thought…"

"Seven days, seven days…"

"Ludwig?"

Gilbert was putting on one last burst of speed, stretching out his fingers for the doorknob as he charged full-speed to snatch it up. Instead, the door was pulled open at the last second, and the boys found themselves face-to-face with their displeased foster mother.

"Ludwig?"

Strangely, this time, the heavy-handed woman's eyes were not a muddy, swamp-colored green. They were like honey, and Ludwig slid into them eagerly without a second thought.

* * *

><p>"I think he's gone crazy, <em>Nonno.<em>" Feliciano sighed, resting his face in his palm as he sat on the sagging corner of his mattress. "He's just laying in his bunk without blinking, not talking to anyone."

"He's going to die, Feli. How would you feel knowing you had a week left to live?"

"Um…"

As wise as ever, his grandfather seemed to pause in consideration before asking, "What would you do right now if you were in his position?"

"If I were in Ludwig's position?" The guard pursed his lips. "Well… I guess I'd apologize to Ivan for his sister."

"Anything else?"

"Maybe ask for a priest?" Now the ideas were coming more easily, each presenting themselves grandly for the young man before flitting upwards in a confusing jumble of possibility. "And talk to the other men to get to know them, and maybe try to make Lovino hate me less, and talk about my feelings and how sorry I was, and… and-!"

"And?"

"And apologize to Feliciano." His gaze dropped to the floor. "Even if I never wanted to be nice to him, or talk to him in the first place, I would apologize for being such a big meanie and making him think that I liked him just a little bit."

"Feliciano…" There was a terse note in the other's voice that hadn't been there before. Then, clearing his throat and possibly shaking his head at his soft-hearted grandson's perceived sentimentality, the man sighed. "Anything else?"

Hot, liquid beads stuck to his eyelashes and anchored themselves into his eyes as Feliciano blinked up at the ceiling to hold them back. Even with the mysterious blockage in his throat that kept him from breathing normally, he managed to speak in a level voice when he finished, "Then I wouldn't say good-bye because no one likes to hear it."

"It's tough, isn't it?" There was a sonorous tone to the retired guard's voice that tolled like a funeral bell when he murmured into the phone, "It's always hardest to lose your first prisoner. After that, your heart hardens enough that you don't care anymore."

"Is this really the best way? Is death really the worst punishment there is?"

"I don't know, Feli. It's just how it's always been. I mean, we can hardly let these men back out into society."

"But isn't it really…" Finally the growing lump blocked off his air passage, and he choked for moment, unable to speak. "Isn't it really just punishment for the people who know them?"

"Maybe." His grandfather chuckled bitterly. "For all we know, paradise could be filled with criminals lounging on the beaches while all the rest of us muck up the guilt and loss for snuffing 'em on."

"But… what about hell?"

"Either way, Feliciano, you need to understand that it's out of your hands and you're going to have to learn to accept it." Then he relented. "Keep your chin up, Feli. Things get better from here."

And that marked the first time that Feliciano didn't believe him.

There were six days left until Ludwig was permanently eliminated, and in the shadow of this oncoming tragedy/justice/horror/conclusion, the guard wondered if life had always been so delicate and fickle.


	10. Chapter 9: The Beginning of the End

A/N: I am so sorry for the delay - I was out on holiday from school, and left the notebook with the end of this story in my locker. I spent quite a bit of time last night putting together these last two chapters.

For the record, this fic has evolved beyond my original expectations, becoming much darker and tragic than I intended. I apologize to the people who were looking for a happy ending.

* * *

><p>Chapter 9: The Beginning of the End<p>

Quite by accident, Ludwig blinked awake, fully alert for the first time in almost six days. Something about that morning struck him square in the chest, hampering his ability to draw oxygen from the unnaturally tranquil air. It occurred to him in his curiously overly-attentive state that, had he been anyone else waking anywhere else, he might have opened his eyes to the gentle, golden glow of dawn creeping through the window and across his pillow to warm his pallid, unshaven cheek. As he was, he had been dragged into reality by the constant buzz of the lights above and the soft tremor of the guard's snores.

The stern, square-handed clock told him it was four fifty and counting down. In hours, only hours, he would be laid to rest one last time. Why bother waking up?

Feliciano let out a shuddering sigh, redistributing his weight in the rickety fold-out chair without collapsing onto the floor. A few loose strands of his coppery hair fell in front of his face, swinging in time to his slow, steady breathing. The depth of his slumber was something to envy, that he could achieve such peace even trapped in the chaos contained within the prison's walls.

The murderer ached for that peace as much as he ached for the individual housing it.

The flood of human sentiment brought on by Ludwig's desperation-fueled desires carried with them the horror of his crime all over again, sweeping him up into a churning mess of shame, guilt, fear, disgust. He could remember clearly the look of the girl's body beneath him, her eyes wide and staring crookedly from a head that was twisted to the side at an unnatural angle. Everything had been taken from her that night, everything torn away with the two hateful hands he now held locked into trembling fists.

_Murderer. My brother is a killer._

His stomach heaved upwards, aiming to be thrust out past his clenched teeth for self-loathing he had almost forgotten he harbored. If only he could so easily expel his weak heart, his maddening emotions. This was why he had closed himself in the first place, he found himself screaming inwardly. He couldn't bear the agony of knowing the hideous consequences what he had done, and that alone was enough to drive any sane man to raving lunacy.

"Ngh, Ludwig?" Eyes like liquid amber fluttered open, and Feliciano's sleeping mind seemed to slowly recognize his spectator. Then he was up on his feet, expression both awed and relieved. "I'm so happy!"

That smile was wonderful, making the warm, living blood pulse quickly through the once-cold valves in the murderer's chest.

"Ludwig!"

"Feliciano…"

* * *

><p>"Ludwig!"<p>

Francis shook his head despairingly from across the cell block, making patronizing clucking noises as he did. He snorted at the disheveled state of the formerly-impressive murderer, haughtily observing the subtle twitches of his blond-locked head as he dreamed deeply. "_Sacre bleu, _to have made it so far only to go to pieces now… I would kill myself before I became like this."

Making a soft noise of agreement, the Japanese man peered through the bars at his doomed neighbor.

"Pipe down." There was no conviction in the guard's voice as he deftly unlocked Ludwig's cell, slipping in through the door as his brother and another guard, Antonio, waited outside. Steeling himself for the task that was to come, Feliciano inhaled a stinging breath through his nose and placed a hand to the lifeless man's shoulder. Impatience and fraying nerves combined as he shook the murderer into consciousness, still calling his name. "Ludwig!"

Slowly, slowly, a pair of watery, blue eyes fell open. Ragged lips, bloodied from constant biting and worrying, parted and formed a whisper that sounded of the brunette's name. He seemed to be lost somewhere between reality and the dream realm, smiling despairingly up at his angel of death.

It was then that Ivan – whether out of spite or passion, it was impossible to tell – called out his sister's name once more like a cry of victory. The murderer didn't so much as flinch. Neither these men, nor those beyond the imposing walls of the prison, could ever affect him again. In so little time, the taunts, sneers, and hatred would mean nothing.

Feliciano ignored the Russian's mutterings. Rising to his feet, he stepped back and allowed Lovino and Antonio to enter and to secure the inmate.

When that exhausted, pleading gaze crossed his, the young guard could barely gather the resolve to stammer, "It's time, Ludwig."

Perfect resignation crossed the murderer's face, more relieved that it was bitter. Squaring his shoulders, the rundown specter of a confident youth exited the cell block without looking back.


	11. Chapter 10: Madness then Death

A/N: Warning for character death.

This is not the last chapter.

* * *

><p>Chapter 10: Madness then Death<p>

"I love you." It was not tender, it was not sweet, it was hardly emotional, this whispered confession from a man seated upon his imminent death. Ludwig's sunken, haunted eyes pierced his own with a rabid intensity, like a starved predator regarding a raw hunk of muscle. Maybe he was mad, maybe he had every right to be, and Feliciano only turned away with the blood from his tongue filling his bitter-flavored mouth.

Strong jaw flopping uselessly, the condemned man managed to choke out, "You make me feel like a person… a person, not a murderer."

"You _are_ a murderer, Ludwig," the guard wanted to say. "A person, but still a murderer."

But in that moment, he didn't trust himself to speak. Instead, he pointedly focused his attention to adjusting the straps on the chair.

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not the one you ought to be apologizing to." Or he might have said if only he had had the conviction to respond.

Standing just a little bit away and beside a distinguished-looking man who was supposedly the father of the victim (the father of a man who had spilt blood himself), Lovino gave his brother a reassuring nod.

"Ludwig Beilschmidt, you have been sentenced to death by electrocution for the murder of Yekaterina Braginskaya." Feliciano's voice did not waver, though he felt as though he were forcing glass shards up his throat. He couldn't do this – the weight of his swallowed scream would crush him first. "Do you have any last words?"

"I wish things had been different."

There were tears in his icy eyes as the black curtain fell across his stern face, and the last thing he saw before the onset of debilitating darkness were those two amber pools that had first captivated him. They, too, brimmed with uncertainty, sorrow – even fear – as their owner forced his lips and brows to be solemn. As though in response to the murderer's final statement, slender fingers traced across one tightly-fisted hand in what Ludwig could at least pretend was fondness or regret.

Then came the ominous buzzing that drowned out everything, and night descended upon him like a jet-plumed raptor.

* * *

><p>The air was thick with smiles and laughter that seemed to stick to his sweaty flesh like humidity, the golden memories created staying as vivid in his mind as the mosquito bites up his thin arms.<p>

"Hurry!" His brother was up ahead, breath short for his throaty bursts of pure, youthful joy as they jogged home on cheap, foam sandals worn thin from constant use.

Brushing through shadows and fireflies, they raced for some predetermined goal hidden beyond the darkened horizon with anticipation burning in their hearts.

"You know, I've been waiting for this." When Gilbert turned, he was the man Ludwig had known before, grin stretching across his pale face, finally free of the ghastly traces of torture it had always borne in his nightmares. "I've been waiting for this for so damn long!"

"Yeah." Their steps were matched now, striking evenly in a rhythm not unlike a heartbeat. "It's been… God, it's been…"

"Like a dream, right?" The dead man smirked at his younger brother. "Like a nightmare. Just open your eyes and _poof_ you're safe."

"Safe, huh?" Safe from the insanity, the heartbreak, the ever-hungry guilt that gnawed so violently at him from within. Ludwig was tired, so tired, and being safe like this seemed so peaceful.

Gilbert sped up, flying forward to grasp the door knob. This time, he snatched it up triumphantly, and pulled himself to a stumbling halt. Beyond the door, so strangely bolted and similar to that of the prison's death row, the light was blinding, and a heat very much like the August sunshine caressed his sweat-shined cheeks.

"I've been waiting," the dead man repeated, clapping the murderer on the back and guiding him inside. "Welcome home, kid."


	12. Justice

A/N: And here's the end.

I hope you all enjoyed yourselves (even if it was awfully depressing, sorry about that ^^;), and I'd like to thank you for reading!

A quick note: the man to whom Feliciano is speaking is Germania.

* * *

><p>Crying in the Rain<p>

It was raining. The sky had cracked open and torrents of regret and sorrow and fear had been released to drown the crouched, shuddering form below.

Outside of that noxious, deadening prison, Feliciano could cry: he could scream and bawl and gasp and no one would think less of him. His sobs slipped loose to paint the grey atmosphere a melancholy shade of blue not so far from that of the victim's eyes.

He couldn't do this. He couldn't look on, indifferent, as lives were ended so abruptly. Those men lived for nothing, died for nothing, and left close to nothing behind to show for the years they had occupied the Earth. Only faded bloodstains and faded resentment remained of what had once been a real, live human being.

Justice

"What happened then?" the old man asked, head bobbing restlessly with the shiver of age as his sharp, jade eyes gazed at the caretaker in awe.

The 25-year-old Feliciano sighed, wondering if he should have chosen a tale with a happier ending to entertain the half-senile elder. He had only been filling in for a few hours, but his relief was running late and a story had been requested. Finally, pursing his lips, he continued, "I stood there in the rain and cried for almost an hour."

"For Ludwig?"

"No," he answered finally. "I think I was crying for Katyusha who was killed too young, and for Gilbert who loved his brother, and for Ivan who loved his sister, and for Francis' boyfriends, and for Kiku's roommates, and… and, well, maybe a little for Ludwig, too."

Wheezing painfully through a respirator of one kind or another, the nursing home occupant paused to hack out a pitiful-sounding cough. "Why?"

"Because after he died, I didn't know what to call myself." Golden-amber eyes squeezed shut in the guise of a smile. "What do you call the murderer of a murderer?"

"Justice, I suppose," came the wise reply of a man who had lived to see too much. "The law."

Two brothers, separated by crime and punishment, had in the end both emerged as the terrible casualties of justice… should it be called that. Feliciano let out a soft, sardonic chuckle. "So in the end, the killers and murderers are victims to justice. But what is justice a victim to?"

"Eh?"

"Nothing, nothing." For just a moment, the young brunette looked pained, staring down at his hands where they clenched emptily before his face. Memories were being uncovered, rising up and returning the sick taste to his dry mouth. He had almost forgotten the hopeless atmosphere of the death row – the sense of imminent destruction that was inescapable and final. Of course, working at the sort of facility that he did now, he could hardly ignore death as easily as he would have wished. It seemed that no matter how far he ran, it tracked him like a hunting dog seeking its prey.

Beside him, his charge heaved in a great breath. His expression had become distant, and his raspy voice wavered tiredly at the edges when he spoke. "I wonder… I wonder why my boys, my grandsons never visit."

"Hm, I wonder, too." Feliciano smiled. Sometimes it was convenient that these folks lost their thread so often. Had they delved any deeper into the previous topic, the caretaker might have lost himself to the past. "Maybe they're really busy right now, so they haven't been able to call or anything. I bet they're working hard so that they can take really good care of you!"

"Mm, I wonder…" he trailed off. "My baby girl… my baby girl died too soon. She should be here still, not me. She should be with her boys, my grandsons, you know."

"Yes sir."

A rare grin tugged at time-slackened lips as the old man pointed a thin, trembling finger to the picture frame on his bedside table. "My boys."

It seemed that justice was victim to the future, for as Feliciano leaned in to peer at the faded photograph, he found himself gasping in shock and horror. The two happy boys standing side-by-side, arms thrown over each others' shoulders as they watched the photographer with wide eyes, were familiar to say the least. Both had taken turns haunting his nightmares every night for the past three years, one in the form of a horribly mutilated corpse, and the other with a dark cloth sack fastened over his head. They had whispered lies, they had whispered truths, they had whispered love in desperation only to be met with murderous silence.

"Gilbert and Ludwig, my boys. Aren't they… aren't they just incredible?"

"Yes," he murmured, suddenly chilled to the center. The winter-sky hued eyes of the younger boy locked onto his, accusation, betrayal, and longing lurking in their depths. "Incredible."


End file.
